spring in the air
by paperworlds
Summary: A wonderful day in Paris, demigod standards. —PercabethFluff / for nat(alie)!


**a/n:** remember that scene in HoH where its mentioned hermes takes percy & annabeth over to paris for a romantic dinner? well, here's my attempt to showcase that scene, but it's nowhere near as perfect as what rick could have done. i don't own these characters. or paris, for that matter.

this is for nat (natella) from the exchange in forum, monsters in the closet. ily i hope you like this (i used the river of winged dreams in the summary is that okayyy?)

who else has mixed feelings about fall 2014 like bloodsofolympusohmygods and then thelastbooknononono?

um, so happy valentine's day! natalie, i hope this attempt at pure fluff fluff-ens your day in a way.

* * *

Of all places Percy would take Annabeth out to, Paris had never seemed possible.

The woods at camp to enjoy privacy and some pizza? Likely. Dinner at a quaint resort by the beach? Probably. An underwater kingdom tour? Still plausible — her boyfriend was the son of the Sea God.

But never could she have pictured them on the second floor of the Eiffel Tower, eating toasted Pita bread with a side order of chicken filet and two glasses of diet coke. Yet here they were, seated on the plush cushions of _Jules_ _Verne_ while a woman in frilly pink sang French Soprano and tall, lanky men floated in and out of the restaurant, carrying things that looked odd but smelled rather nice.

A bouquet of white roses sat at their table, Annabeth's favorite kind.

It was _so_ romantic and _so_ sweet, Annabeth figures she should excuse her boyfriend for everything, even his nonexistent ability to handle food in a bowl or handle any liquids whatsoever. Especially not liquid with ice — the coke stain was proof.

Things, like it always did in their case, got worse by each passing minute. Percy just had to order the _plat_ _du_ _jour_, a delicious combination of toasted pita bread, chicken filet and a spicy dip that burned when hurled towards your face; Annabeth was talking from personal experience here. Maybe Percy wasn't to be entirely blamed — it wasn't exactly easy to eat bread with a fork and knife, but that was no excuse for sending a piece of dipped bread into your girlfriend's face.

It hurt. Very, very much.

By then, a lot of the dip had been smeared on the cream table cloths and an ugly blob of burnt sienna was adorning Annabeth's shirt. But then again, things could have been worse, much much worse. There could have been monsters, big ugly monsters secretly disguised as French opera singers.

After apologizing profusely to the staff, pressing a fifty euro note into the manager's hands and finally escaping from the restaurant, the couple take the metro to Champs Elysees — and the metro ride is a whole different tale to tell — walking in a comfortable silence just to get the feel of a great, almost trouble-free, day (via demigod standards of course).

They stop at a local patisserie because as Percy so wisely puts it, dessert is not a desire but a need.

The shop's electric doors snap shut behind them and the crisp smell of freshly baked goods that has filled up the air in the store is divine and almost calming. Annabeth is enthrall end by the different things that bedeck the many shelves; she sees macarons, cakes, pastry slices, chocolates, eclairs, all in different shape or size. She turns to Percy, to ask if they can please get a little bit of everything, only to find her boyfriend chatting up with the salesman.

She doesn't remember him knowing much French.

Percy, she soon learns, is attempting to ask the man what the exact ingredients for every pastry is in his three word limited French and she cuts in, if only for the sake poor salesman. "_Deux éclairs et une boite de macarons, s'il vous plait. Merci._"

They take a taxi to Champs Elysees and stop by the skating rink to get hot chocolate before making their way up towards the Arc de Triumph, where most of the main stores lie. On their way, of course, they get into a heated argument about the difference between _Cappuccino_ flavored macarons and _Espresso_ flavored one, with Percy insisting all coffee tasted alike and Annabeth declaring him a coffee amateur.

All's well that ends well and Percy, obviously, gives in. They walk on, taking their sweet time and Annabeth's narrowed eyes are scanning her surroundings at almost unearthly speeds.

Paris is beautiful — all from the cleverly crafted statues embossed on bridges to the magnificent Haussmannian architecture with the buildings was enough to take your breath away. Like every engineer, Annabeth appreciated the complexity in a city that seemed so simple and pure. She's already regretting not carrying her notebook with her to this escapade because Annabeth should really be taking notes on this.

She must have zoned out eventually because when she refocuses her attention on Percy, he's studying her bemusedly. "Are you thinking about some three hundred year old guy who single-handedly designed Champs Elysees and revolutionized all architecture, leading to him being crowned as the best architect of year 1600 something?"

Annabeth almost chokes on her ice cream. "I'm sorry — what exactly did you say?"

"Hey, you know better than to test my facts for historical accuracy, Annabeth. I can hardly remember Greek history and I should know that stuff, having relived like half of it. You had that glint in your eyes, the one where you look like you're trying to calculate the area of the universe or something."

Annabeth snorts, but secretly she's flattered and maybe a teeny bit flustered. "It's impossible to calculate the area of the universe."

"Exactly."

Annabeth opens her mouth to retort, but upon realizing that she has no idea what point her boyfriend is trying to make or whether he's even trying to make any point in the first place, closes it again and says, "Let's just move on, shall we?"

Lights from the many stores in Paris glitter in the distance, and Annabeth can make out the silhouettes of various figures, (most of them tourists), cruising through the streets, hands entwined and cameras slung on their necks. Percy slips his arm around her shoulder. "You're not still mad at me for making the waiter dude mad? I can get you one of those teddy bears we saw earlier if it helps."

"I'm good, thanks but you're quite talented at pissing people off, Percy."

"Maybe, but that's not the only thing I'm good at." Percy informs her, his ever so familiar smirk in place and Annabeth decides he really shouldn't be allowed to smile like _that_.

"Well, yes, I guess you're quite good at breathing underwater as well but —" That's when Percy kisses her, his lips tasting like salt, and the fresh smell of sea envelopes her as she literally melts into his warm embrace. For a second, her world takes a 360 degree spin, the city lights and bustle of Paris fade into the background and it's only them; Percy and Annabeth, Annabeth and Percy.

When he pulls away, Annabeth decides yes, he _is_ pretty talented. She whacks him anyway, partly because he needs to be put in place (you never interrupt a daughter of Athena) and partly because she knows it's not going to hurt him.

It's one of the perks of having an invincible boyfriend.

"Okay, maybe that wasn't _that_ bad but getting people mad is still your forte, Seaweed Brain."

* * *

/hides

this was so tragically rushed.


End file.
